The Rook
by FreckledNerdyBirdy
Summary: It all started as a simple card game called "Rook" at the table one night. However, one rouge finds his life is now part of one big game full of deals, tricks, and gambling. Can he find the Rook in his hand to turn the tables in his favor?
1. Meet the Player

Based around a card game that folks hardly ever heard of.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but 'The Rook' who will make an appearence later on.

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**_'THE ROOK'_**

_'Meet the Player'_

The chill in the air was thick and drifted in the haze of dusk; the wind carried the freshly fallen leaves of fall down the paths. The wind whipped in the alleys and nipped at noses and cheeks that were exposed, but for one individual, this element posed no problem for. His mask blocked the chill except for the mouth and eyes, making them water a little. The rough fabric brushed his face and tickled his cheeks. His normal gaze of the ground drifted to the sky. The towering buildings cradled him from the rest of the city and the clouding sky that he might levitate into, comfort and security or imprisonment and isolation? He sniffed, his nose sensing thick levels of moisture in the air, rain was not far away. He scoffed and slinked through the alley while avoiding a puddle that would mean soggy socks and freezing toes. He came upon an awning sheltering a door with a sign saying 'no admittance'. He adjusted the shoulders of his shirt and straightened his tall form. A tattered gloved hand roughly rapped the door which alerted someone, probably a bouncer, to peer through a small viewer.

"Password," deeply vibrated from the other side of the door.

"Garefowl"

The peering door closed and the sound of bolts and clicking of gears could be heard. The heavy iron door swung inward into the darkness of the building. "Welcome" grunted the thug.

The outsider strode through the door, neck stretched forward, peering for unexpected. His hat brushed the ceiling due to his tall form. He made his way with awkward strides. The bouncer pointed across the room, "Through the door, down the hall, and to your left." In the darkness, features of the lanky man and his attire showed as he glared through his burlap mask wearing a stitched grin, this was the Scarecrow.

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Tis short but I'm more than half way with the next chapter and it should be ready soon. Lastest by Thanksgiving.

This is based mostly around the Gotham Underground comics and Scarecrow Year One. Scarecrow looks more like mix between Tim Sale's and Sean Murphy's scarecrow. Also the elements from the card game **ROOK **are based in this. No, I don't really know how to play Rook, learning and trying. If anyone does, I'm open to advice.

Till next time.


	2. The Game

_The Game_

Through the corridors and into the main room, the Scarecrow lost his gaze in the grandeur of the Iceberg Lounge even though it was shut down for the day. The penguin had definitely spared no expense. The ballroom expanded to a second story with a dome ceiling over head littered with crystals that gleamed mysteriously in the dark, along with long paneled chandeliers. The floor was white marble and marble columns held the balcony. A pool covered the center of the room with an iceberg of concrete spewing a waterfall. The part of the pool near the wall was of a solid sheet of ice for the figure skaters. The band played on a circular, pyramid stage bordering the ice rink. The scarecrow gazed down in the dark, navy water at his blurred and hardly distinguishable reflection. He felt like smacking the water for mocking him. He leaned forward to glare at the image. Suddenly it began to become more unrecognizable as the water became disturbed. Abruptly, a Ringed Seal revealed its head from the water's depths and yowled at him. The Master of Fear flew backwards in surprise of the animal's sudden appearance. He growled at himself for showing fear, especially due to it being a marine mammal. The seal swam back towards the iceberg, to its clan that had been lounging there with the penguins. He had not noticed them since his eyes had not adjusted to the darkness. The Scarecrow huffed and stormed through the tables to only light on the second story. The air in the room was still, the only sound made came from the trickling waterfall and seal gliding in the pool.

"Don't tell me that you're losing your touch Scarecrow."

The Scarecrow sharply leaped in the air. Damn the Riddler, he been watching him the whole time around the pool.

"But then again scarecrows are used to frighten crows not seals," snickered the Riddler.

The man of straw gazed up to the edge of the balcony to find the Riddler leaning over the side wearing a grin. His left arm lazily hung swinging on the railing.

"I don't know, come down here and we'll see," replied the lanky man climbing the stairs and flexing his fingers. How dare him, flashbacks of childhood and high school tortured his mind. If he wasn't here for bargains and to stay out of the crosshairs of the other rouges, he would have gassed the bully. At the table in the far corner sat Edward Nygma better known as The Riddler, Oswald Copplepot that waddled like a plump penguin, Two-Face who was once known as the district attorney Harvey Dent, and Jervis Tetch disguised as his favorite Lewis Carroll's character, the Mad Hatter. The table was dimly lit by a decorative glass lamp cut to look like ice. It provided little light to read the papers on the table but hit the distinguishable features of everyone. The light shined on everyone from below the chin, amplifying their face, especially their sinister grins. On the other side of the table the light glared on a prominent roman nose and pearly teeth clenching a cigarette holder. The lamp made a glare on the monocle resting at his right eye, giving him a demonic appearance. "We've been waiting for you Mr. Crane," wheezed through the clenched teeth of the penguin as he stood to shake the scarecrow's hand. The Master of Fear gazed down at the considerably shorter man's outstretched hand. Not wanting to hear another coward joke for gingerly shaking, he quickly yanked the three fingered hand and gave a good firm shake. Oswald's face clearly showed surprised at the exprofessor's actions but squeezed the man's hand to state he was still in charge.

The penguin grinned and wavered toward an empty chair waiting for the Scarecrow. "Please, have a sit," as he returned to his chair. The stick figure plopped down, placing his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. Bits of dirt and straw flaked off him. The stout man grimaced at the sight of white, silk tablecloth becoming soiled. Note Jay, Raven, or Lark to have it washed later. "Now that we are all here, let's begin. Ah, Lark, please bring these gentlemen some water," he signaled to one of the three women that looked like a playboy penguin in a top hat, instead of a bunny. The blonde nodded and saughtered to the stairs.

"Now wait, wait, wait. I'll have a Marti with three olives toots," called the Riddler.

The penguin spat out his red wine that he had just taken a sip of. "You'll what! I'm not a charitable organization Edward!" The green bowler man grinned and lifted his feet on the table showing his dress shoes. 'Scratch that,' thought the Penguin, 'just burn it.' Under his sunglasses, Edward's eyes twinkled, "Now, now, dear fellow. It was you who ordered this meeting and for us personally to come and assist you. Don't we deserve some hospitality?"

The Mad Hatter leaned over the table, "Riddler does draw a point, but seriously water. I can't drink that! It's undignified!"

"Fine, fine, you've made your points, it's on the house. I can spare the expense," he sighed. Another note, take more drastic consideration on who to invite.

The Riddler smirked in victory, "Hey toots, with the martini add a grill steak and grilled vegetables." The waitress glared at his lack of respect but dare not go against her boss. "I would fancy some tea, two lumps, with duck, boiled potatoes, and a slice of cake," replied the Hatter. Two-face paused and gave shifty glances around the table. He pulled out his trademark coin and mumbled to himself, "Heads for champagne, tails for whiskey." He flipped, "Champagne. Now heads for roasted squab with quail eggs or tails for veil with pasta. Squab with quail eggs it is then." All turned to Scarecrow except the Penguin who hung his head in dismay. "Let me guess, Spooky would like some pumpkin juice with pumpkin pie, no wait! With corn on the comb," chuckled the Riddler. If looks could kill the Riddler would be nothing but a blood splatter on the wall, but unfortunately for Scarecrow, all he could do was glare through the eye holes. "I'll have water, just water," he answered sternly.

Lark counted on her fingers to remember the orders and drifted off in her own mind down the stairs. All men watched her leave, each with different perspectives. Crane squinted through his mask in disgust. No, he never cared for the female creatures, the back stabbing bitches. The only good things about them were their high pitch screams of fear and pain that brought a gleam to his masked face. For him, there were only two types of women, the helpless stupid ones that were preyed on but equally just as mean, and the ones like Ivy and Catwoman that were heeded like a cobra. Who ever came up with the saying little girls were made of sugar, spice, and everything nice ought to meet a torturous death. For all males, the makeup of little girls was an enigma, and when they grew up, it was pain stakingly obvious that women were created out of gun powder and lead. Screw the Adam's rib idea. He hated working with the female rogues.

"Gentlemen, back to the matter," announced the Penguin, shuffling his papers. "You are probably wondering why I invited you all here."

The group just seemed to glare at him to get to the point. Clearing his throat he continued, "Yes, well I am well aware of all your unique talents and skills and I was planning on hiring you."

"I want to make this clear first, I am not going after the Bat, I just broke out and trying to lay low!" argued the Hatter.

The penguin was frozen with his jaw gaping, "I was planning on hiring you all on a mission to settle a score with a business rival causing me trouble."

Two Face slammed his fist on the table, "Pawns, that's what you want us for! At your dispose and do your dirty work. I'm not facing bullets for you."

"On contraire, I am offering you this job, you in the end decide. And besides, my dear political friend, I was hoping you would devise a legal, safeguard plan. You see, I've had a recent crash with the Falcone Roman Empire."

The room crashed to stillness.

"Yes, yes, the Falcones' are big and scary and have thugs that could grind your bones. But hear me out. As of recently, Carmine has extended his empire to the east half of the city and taken control of a few docks and warehouses. Particularly, he now controls a warehouse that supplied seafood to my restaurant, but he has now broken all trade and has heaved a rather heavy tax on my finances if I'm planning on purchasing anything."

Crane really had no intent of helping Copplepot, but the promise of money glued him in his seat. The rouge hadn't found criminal work other than stealing for himself, but the offer of causing chaos and being handsomely paid meant he could buy more chemicals for his experiment quicker.

"All of you know the Falcones' play dirty and try to bypass the law, but work to keep a good public image. Which I was hoping you, Harvey, you and your political and lawyer expertise could devise a plan to catch them off guard and a cover story to keep us out of hot water. ………. I don't know; blame it on the Russians or something. Falcone and the Russian mafia have been having scuffles on the coast. Think of something legal. I just want the merchandise in the warehouse destroyed so Carmine starts losing money on the place and loses interest in the place."

The rouges shared glances. Dent stood up and pulled out his coin, "You know the drill Penguin." He flipped, the coin soared vertically. Time stilled as it somersaulted down with gravity, and landed in a welcoming palm. Two Face slapped his hand over the back of his other hand. The stout man seemed to hold his breath as if his life hung in the balance of Dent's decision. The ex-lawyer first peered at the coin hidden in his hands but exposed it to the rest.

Heads. He would help.

The Penguin grinned, but showed a concern look to the rest. Clearing his throat, "Gentlemen, I am aware of the skepticism, but I do promise to keep you in a way legally safe, you just have to make sure you don't get apprehended and expose I'm behind this. But that should be easy for criminal masterminds such as yourselves. I give you two weeks to decide. After two weeks return here to be a part of the plan. That is all I have to say."

As if perfect timing, Lark and the chief entered the balcony with trays of food and drinks. Eyes lit up and mouths watered as the aroma lazily drifting in the air once the lids of the trays revealed the meals. Crane accepted his drink and watched the Hatter sip his tea and enjoy his cake. As the others ate and Copplepot whispered something to Lark, he suddenly felt isolated and distant but singled out at the same time. He heard what had to be heard, now to just go home and think. He made his way for the stairs, but suddenly a dark haired woman knocked him aside as she hounded for the occupied table.

"Oswald!" she screeched.

The penguin glared at her, "What Raven?!"

"Oswald, need something, something to make me happy! Take me shopping!"

"I will do no such thing, besides I bought you those precious gems, don't you feel more pretty now?"

"They're not enough," she whined, "I need something that makes me look young and not an aging hag in the mirror! Get the limo fired so we can go!"

"Silence! How dare you talk to me like that and in front of clients! Be gone!"

The screeching from Raven became worse, so the Master of Fear took the chance to slink unnoticed and avoid the drama. The others seemed to enjoy their meal and the sideshow soap opera drama. As annoying the female rouges were, female henchmen could be just as bad, how did the penguin put up with them?

He swept pass the empty tables, two weeks, two weeks, surely there'd be better money opportunities in that amount of time.

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I get the feeling I'm going to get angry fangirls because Crane said some hateful thing about women. Well if you're reading this story you must love Scarecrow, I do to, but from his behaivor in cartoons and comics, I don't think he cares for females, or anyone. We love him, but he don't love us.


End file.
